


To Hold and to Have

by PalenDrome (nerdherderette)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Bondage, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Bottom Harry Potter, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, HP Kinkfest 2019, M/M, Multiple Penetration, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Other, Post-Hogwarts, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Oral Sex, Tentacle Monsters, Tentacle Sex, Threesome - M/M/Other, Top Draco Malfoy, Voyeurism, m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-10-25 21:26:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17732957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdherderette/pseuds/PalenDrome
Summary: It was supposed to be an innocent swim in the Great Lake.The Giant Squid has other plans.





	To Hold and to Have

**Author's Note:**

  * For [overtheroof](https://archiveofourown.org/users/overtheroof/gifts).



> Dear Overtheroof:
> 
> I never thought about writing tentacle porn until I read your amazing prompt!! It’s so fabulous and incredibly hot, and I absolutely adored it. This is ~~probably~~ definitely the porniest thing I’ve ever written—and given the nature of the fest, I threw in a couple of other kinks for you as well. 😉 <33
> 
> Many thanks to heyitsamorette for the fast, thorough, and insightful beta! You rock!! ❤❤❤

 

* * *

Fucking Pansy. As if it weren't bad enough that she’s marrying a  _Weasley_ (Draco doesn’t care how large or magical she thinks the git's prick is, there are limits to what that excuses, even for the sluttiest of cocksluts. He should know). But now she's insisting on holding their dinner rehearsal at Hogwarts, of all places. The ceremony is supposed to be a non-traditional affair; aside from vows that include the phrase “to have and to hold,” it's purposefully free of pureblood pageantry. What it is, is a blatant attempt to demonstrate that love and forgiveness can conquer everything, even against the most insurmountable odds.

Draco knows that deep down, Pansy’s love for Ron far exceeds any desire to reassert her place in the world. He adores her for attempting both, even with the _Slytherin-ess_ of it all. Unfortunately, that means putting up with the Weasel’s friends for the better part of the year, particularly the groom-to-be’s best man, the Golden Boy himself.

And since Draco is Pansy’s maid of honour (as if that title weren’t humiliating enough), he’s had to endure Potter’s increasingly frequent stares and awkward silences every time they’re stuck planning something together. The berk doles out words like they’re one of the Deathly Hallows, gritting out each syllable with a pain equal to that of a  _Cruciatus_.

To top things off, Potter is undeniably fit. He’s been blessed with a post-War growth spurt that leaves him as tall and broad as Krum, with muscles stacked upon sleek muscle _._ And it’s a bit infuriating that he’s also quite confident and blithely charming, and ever-so-loquacious. He’s everyone’s best friend—everyone’s, that is, except for Draco’s.

Which is fine. It’s not like Draco gives two fucks. So what if the bespectacled and unnervingly handsome (and did he mention well-muscled?) prat has words and smiles and time to spare for everyone else?

But tonight, being back at Hogwarts has only amplified their differences. Pansy might think she has a lot to live down, but serving up Harry as a sacrificial lamb is quite a different matter from creating the situation that forced the decision in the first place.

_Merlin._

Nearly six years later, and it’s like nothing has changed. Not even after the years of study to which Draco’s devoted himself more than anyone else he knows _;_ nor after the hundreds (okay, forty-two) innocent people he’s defended since; nor after the money he's donated to various charities; nor after the fact that one of his best friends will soon become part of the winning side, even if in name only.

Then again, names mean  _a lot._ It’s another thing Draco is all too familiar with.

The grass grows longer as he nears the Great Lake. It’s different in the summer without the buzz of the crowd. Even the dock seems a bit unkempt, as if the groundskeeper has decided to let nature run its course over the next two months until the surroundings are overtaken once again by things that don’t belong in the wild. But for now, it’s the perfect place for Draco to escape, far from the unspoken judgments and silent stares back up at the castle.

Or it  _would_ be, because as the perfect resting place under his favourite beech tree comes into view, Draco notes that someone else might have the same idea.

“Potter.”

Harry's face, initially so open and expectant, shutters at Draco’s greeting. “Malfoy,” he sighs, his lips pulling into a frown.

The lake looks peaceful. The waters are as smooth as glass, a purple-black under the full moon which casts everything in an otherworldly glow. Somewhere close to the castle, the rest of the wedding party is chattering away, looking towards the future while finishing up their dessert and drink.

Despite the August heat, Draco shivers. Potter lowers his right hand—it’s subtle, but Draco catches the movement. As he draws closer, he smells the distinct scent of mallowsweet, earthy and cloying.

Draco arches a brow. He can’t help it; it’s a distinct reflex, especially when it comes to all things Potter.

“Picked up some habits from the Hufflepuffs, I see.”

Harry lets out a snort. “The ‘Puffs have nothing on us Gryffindors. There was a reason why Neville discovered he had a green thumb.”

“Ahhh.” A cloud passes overhead, causing the moonlight to fade as Draco stands by awkwardly. “You came to your best friend’s rehearsal dinner in anticipation of getting high?”

Harry shrugs. “Some of my best memories are here. Along with some of my worst. It helps me relax.” He places the blunt in his mouth. Draco tries not to stare as Harry's lips curl around the end, his lashes fluttering as he inhales and then holds his breath, or to be mesmerised by the soft grey smoke that curls lazily around them when he eventually lets it out.

Harry extends the blunt in invitation, then extinguishes the tip with a neat flick of his fingers once Draco shakes his head. “What brings you down by the lake?” he asks as he stashes the mallowsweet in a small bottle and tucks it away in his suit jacket.

Draco can’t bring himself to look at Harry. “Bad memories as well.”

Harry remains silent, but when Draco doesn’t elaborate further, he clears his throat. “Would you like to sit?”

Draco would, but the awkward silence might be a bit too much. “Um. . .it’s all right. I don’t want to intrude. I think I’ll just walk south for a bit, then head back.”

“Stay,” Harry says firmly. “You’re not intruding. I was just going to go for a swim to clear my head before heading back myself.”

“You’re smoking mallowsweet. How clear do you think your head is going to be?”

“Well, if you remember Firenze’s lecture, the answers lie here before us: in the trees, the lake, the sky, the stars.” The waters of the lake shimmer as if in agreement and Harry stands, his hands making quick work of his shirt and his trousers.

Draco is glad for the darkness as he feels his face flush. He tries to control the tenor of his voice once Harry stands before him adorned in nothing more than the expanse of his skin and a pair of cotton knit pants that leaves nothing to the imagination.

“Wait. . .” he squeaks as Harry bends over to divest himself of the last bit of clothing. “You’re going in naked?” He sneaks a peek, and Merlin, Harry is beautiful _all over._ His cock is long, hanging heavy and thick against his balls, and it’s the most unfair thing, ever.

Harry folds the ends of his glasses together and places it atop his shirt before casting a  _Visio_ spell. “It’s called ‘skinny dipping’, and yes. I don’t know if you’ve ever pulled on a pair of jeans over wet pants before, but it’s hardly pleasant.”

Draco rolls his eyes, reminding himself that Harry was raised for many years by Muggles. “That’s what drying charms are for. ”

“The whole point of this exercise is to be free. Both literally and figuratively.” Harry walks towards the lake’s edge, the globes of his arse contracting and bouncing with each step, his cock swaying heavily in counterpoint.

Draco remembers that the lake’s bottom drops off steeply and quickly. He’s not sure how long Harry’s been down here, or how much mallowsweet he’s smoked. “We should head back to the castle; Pansy’s probably going crazy wondering where we are.”

Harry enters the lake in response. He takes one step in and then another, the water rippling in growing circles around each leg. He flashes Draco a grin, then runs several steps before submerging the rest of his body in a graceful dive. When he surfaces, the water cascades down his body in rivulets, the droplets glistening silver on gold from the light of the moon.

“Come on in!” he shouts as Draco drools. “If you want to forget about everything else, there’s nothing better.” He turns over onto his back, his prick just beneath the waterline as he propels himself with several long strokes.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Scared, Malfoy?”

Draco huffs. He knows it’s childish; perhaps it’s because they’re back in Hogwarts, or because he could never leave a challenge unanswered. Or maybe he’s just tired of being underestimated, but before he knows it, his own clothes are neatly folded in a pile next to Harry’s messy one and he’s wading into the Great Lake’s cold waters, completely starkers.

Harry flips forward so he’s upright once more. “Just dive in,” he says, treading water with an amused grin as he watches Draco. His eyes rake down the front of Draco’s body, and their slow and appreciative drag is causing Draco’s cock to awaken. “It won’t be so shocking if you just go for it.”

“I know what I’m doing, ta ever so,” Draco grits out in an attempt to prevent his teeth from chattering.

Harry graces him with a careless shrug, then shows off by diving below the surface. It’s when he’s gone for a significantly long time, however, that Draco begins to worry.

Suddenly, the water churns. There’s something that’s latching onto his leg, and Draco feels himself being pulled under. The sky and the outline of the trees flip upside down before the undefined waters of the lake take over, the low sounds of the owls and the rustling leaves dissolving into a chaotic rush of sound. His eyes blur, hands flailing as the silky, earthy taste of water floods his mouth.

The grip on his limb disappears, and Draco clambers to the surface, letting out an indignant, sputtering squawk as Harry appears a foot or two away. He’s shaking his head from side to side like a soaked Crup, the muscles in his chest rippling as he trembles with suppressed laughter. From this distance, Draco can see the shadow of the stubble that outlines the hard edge of Harry’s jaw and the unnerving green of his eyes. When he looks down, he can see the hint of Harry’s impressive cock bobbing just below the water.

“It’s like you’re twelve, Potter,” Draco says with an irritated huff. He tries to maintain some semblance of dignity, but honestly, he’s just relieved to have his feet back on something solid.

“And what’s wrong with that?” Harry teases.

“I could have drowned!”

Potter actually gives him an eye-roll. “It’s like four feet deep here.”

“Well, I could have suffered considerable damage to my voice. I  _might_ have already; who knows what’s in these brackish waters? You could have affected my ability to argue the Ministry’s next case, or worse, the speech I owe Pansy.”

Potter actually shudders. “Okay, that last one’s a bit daunting. But it’s a mountain lake, the cleanest one around.” He takes a step closer, placing him right in Draco’s personal space. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, you know.”

Draco stares. “What?”

“Come on, Draco. You’re one of the Ministry’s most successful young barristers. For someone so smart, you can be terribly dense.”

“What?” Draco says again, barely a whisper.

“Do you know how difficult it’s been, trying to gain your attention? You’ve rebuffed all my advances. When you wouldn’t let me see you home after the wine tasting, I was convinced Pansy was just taking the piss when she said you liked me, but Ron insisted it was true.”

“Oh my god.” Draco’s face flushes with humiliation. If he can bring himself to show his face to everyone after this, there won’t be a wedding to worry about, because he is going to  _kill_ Pansy.

Harry’s eyes narrow at the less-than-enthused reaction. “I thought. . .never mind. My mistake,” he says hastily, taking a step back.

Something pulls deep in Draco’s gut at Harry’s expression. “It’s not a mistake,” he blurts out before he can rethink it.

Harry stops as a cocksure grin slowly replaces the look of uncertainty. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Draco’s eyes flick down the hard planes of Harry’s chest to the hair that trails from his belly to his groin. “I mean, I guess I could do worse.”

Harry takes his thumb and brushes it along Draco’s jaw. It takes everything in Draco's power not to lean into it, to nuzzle that palm and suck that rough thumb into his mouth. “Malfoy, I’m about to prove to you there’s no one better.”

Draco watches as Harry James Potter—Saviour of the Wizarding World, Auror extraordinaire,  _Witch Weekly’s_ bachelor of the year, and fit-as-fuck star of so many of Draco’s dreams—leans in. His hand palms the nape of Draco’s neck, the water pulsing around them as his gaze softens, drawing them close.

Draco balls his hands at his sides. His lashes flutter as his eyes fall shut of their own volition, exhaling as he lets out a needy moan. Harry’s breath glides against the dampness of Draco’s skin, hot and prickly, and he can smell the sweet musk of mallowsweet mixed with Harry’s arousal. He tips forward, buoyed by the pull of the water and his burgeoning hope, and he thinks soon, he will get to taste Harry’s lips, to feel the sweep of Harry’s tongue inside his mouth, the press of those hard, well-muscled and well-earned lines of Harry’s body against his own.

What Draco gets is a gasp and a splash of cold water against his belly instead.

His eyes fly open. Everything is eerily quiet; even the whirs and chirps of the creatures that flood the night sky with their chatter are now strangely still. The moon hangs high above, her silver light bending then breaking over the vast body of water which is otherwise pitch black without the sun to reflect the sky or pierce its unfathomable depths. He remembers that there are places in the lake that are deep enough to house Grindylows and communities of Selkies and Merpeople, and he can’t help the nervousness that rolls through him as he feels very much the intruder.

“Potter?” Perhaps the idiot drowned; there’s no telling how long Harry was out here trying to divine the secrets of the universe before Draco had stumbled across him. “If this is a joke. . .” he shouts, only to be answered by silence.

“Fuck you, Potter,” Draco mutters under his breath, turning around to head back to shore. No amount of begging or apologising will make Draco change his mind. There is no way he will consider dating anyone who thinks that pulling pranks is the equivalent of a love confession, Golden Boy (with an unfairly fit body and dancing green eyes) or not.

His dramatic return to shore is halted as the normally tranquil waters begin to break, the sound of splashing waves more appropriate for the rocky coasts of the Isle of Wight than something landlocked. Draco swivels back towards the middle of the lake, just in time to see something looming in the distance, its massive, undulating form ominous as it breaks the surface. It rises, a mottled purple and slickly solid mass, its primeval form silhouetted against the background of the moon as several appendages writhe nearby, sinuous and rhythmic and half-hidden by the water.

 _Fuck._ All other sounds die in Draco’s throat. There are rumours that the Giant Squid is somewhat domesticated, but Draco has seen it propelling itself past the windows of the Slytherin dorms, its powerful body angry and aggressive, as if affronted by being put on display. He feels even more naked—helpless, really, as his wand lies with his clothes back on shore. He’s not certain if the squid has seen him and whether remaining as still as possible or making a run for it will give him the best chance of escaping unscathed.

The squid seems preoccupied. One of its tentacles is coiled more tightly than the others, and as it lifts it from the water, Draco can see a shock of thick, unruly hair and a flash of golden skin as the creature hoists Harry’s broad back to the heavens, arse up.

Harry seems to be struggling, but without his wand and with his arms immobilised at his sides, there’s little he can do. Draco watches in horror as the squid presses Harry against its massive, conical head with something resembling affection, perhaps recalling the time Harry and his friends had fed it toast in their second year. It's terrifying, yet oddly touching. Both ugly and beautiful, a macabre imitation of a lover’s caress.

Harry's legs dangle, kicking fruitlessly as another tentacle begins to wind itself up one of his limbs. The appendage slithers upwards, the slick mass pulsating as it glides and coils. The suction cups that dot the underside of the appendage seem to be secreting something viscous and slick. Harry’s skin, warm in contrast to the unforgiving grey of the moon, shimmers under its path, the muscles of his back visibly rippling with his every move. The tentacle continues its determined march—over Harry’s calves, the soft and vulnerable bend behind his knees, the width of his thighs, the meaty jut where his hip meets his arse—the shape of it elongating, then narrowing to form a bulbous tip.

Draco watches as the squid strokes down the curve of Harry’s back, eventually coming to a rest in the space between his arse cheeks. Heat floods through Draco, his shame and arousal overwhelming as his own prick steadily swells. He knows the inevitability of what happens next—the slow and purposeful slide, the thickness of the appendage pushing apart Harry’s buttocks. He watches as the tip disappears, Harry’s body tensing as the tentacle sinks in and Harry lets out a guttural cry, his hips giving in to the sensation, rolling and demanding.

The moan that leaves Draco’s throat carries loudly across the lake. Two pairs of eyes lock onto him; Harry lifts his head, and even from this distance, Draco can see that they’re glazed, pupils blown, while the Giant Squid stares directly at him.

“Draco,” Harry rasps as the tentacle starts fucking his arse, its thick length pumping in and out. “Go!”

Having been caught, Harry’s words goad Draco into action. Perhaps he could help Harry if he had his wand. He trudges through the water, the depths making his exit sluggish, and his heart begins to rabbit as he hears something moving, the currents forming faster and faster, swirling around him.

One of the squid’s arms grabs a hold of his ankle while another winds around his waist, their grips tightening as Draco starts to wriggle. He's hauled back as the castle that’s visible in the distance moves rapidly in reverse, a dizzying trip that finally ends when his back thumps painfully against the Giant Squid’s torso.

Cradled against the squid, Draco can now see that there are actually six—no, eight—arms and two much longer tentacles, the latter of which taper down into smooth, long, and finger-like tips. One of the tentacles is currently burrowing its way into Harry’s arse, while the other slowly strokes Draco’s cheek. It’s surprisingly gentle, the heaviness of the appendage and the sting of the suction cups ringed with tiny, serrated teeth contrasting with the gracefulness of its movements. There’s something that’s being secreted from the tentacle, too; the slime that trails down the side of Draco’s face makes his skin tingle. When it collects at the corner of his mouth, he licks it without thinking.

The substance is a mixture of salty and sweet. The taste floods the inside of his mouth, sending a rush of pleasure throughout his body, encouraging him to be pliant as he lets out a plaintive moan.

“No!” Harry cries, resuming his struggles. His actions appear to draw the ire of the squid however, because it slows its gentle fucking of Harry’s arse in favour of wrangling him upright so he’s pinned against its mantle as well.

From this position, Harry is splayed and displayed for Draco’s full perusal. Draco knows he should avert his eyes, that he should give Harry some semblance of dignity, but he can’t stop  _looking,_ not when Harry’s bound tightly with one of the squid’s arms wrapped around him, the tentacle resuming the plunging motions in his arse. Harry’s tanned skin is marred with angry pink welts from where the suction cups have laid claim to his perfect flesh, a beautiful reminder of the squid’s possessive mark.

The squid brings up one of its free arms, the suction-free end pressing none-too-gently against Harry’s mouth as if to reprimand him. It leaves Harry’s lips slick-wet and swollen and gorgeously red, and when the arm ripples and nudges Harry’s lips apart, the resistance and hard lines of Harry’s face slacken as he acquiesces and allows it entry.

A ragged sob escapes Harry before his cries are swallowed, the squid’s arm thickening to fill Harry until he’s liable to choke. The tentacle that’s buried in his arse picks up the pace and Draco is as hard as he’s ever been, dick standing out in front of him at a ridiculous angle, its head swollen and flushed. He’s helpless to do anything, pinioned against the squid like he is—unable to look away, to free Harry, or get himself off.

Harry’s eyes turn watery and glazed, his gorgeous lashes fluttering, eyes rolling back even as his cheeks stain pink from embarrassment. His mouth drools with a mixture of slick and spit, his vocalizations turning garbled and choked.

Draco drags his eyes down Harry’s delicious torso, blotchy with shame and arousal, to Harry’s thick cock. It's nearly purple—the head swollen and leaking, already protruding from the foreskin. Draco might not be able to extricate either of them from their situations, but he wants Harry to know how beautiful he is. To somehow take the focus off the squid, and make it about them.

He’s always been excellent with his mouth.

“Harry,” he says as Harry’s eyes flicker open. “Look at you. You’re amazing. Beautiful.” There’s a focus now, some of the haziness replaced as Harry’s head tilts, honing in on Draco’s voice, Draco’s face, even as his pupils are blown wide.

The squid’s second tentacle slithers down Draco’s back. He can feel the end of it lengthening, hardening, it’s tip sharp like the edge of a nail against his skin until it finds what it’s looking for, sinking into the space between his arse cheeks. There’s the sound of something squelching; the cleft between his buttocks is suddenly filled with a substance that’s cool and wet, yet also sets his nerves on fire. A shudder of violent want rolls through him, and Harry must see, must know, because he whines around the arm that’s sliding deep into the heat of his mouth.

Draco can feel the lust curling around the edges of his control. “You’re so fucking hot, Harry. I wish it were me. . .you, on your knees, your mouth stuffed full of my cock. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Like me fucking your face, so fast and hard until you’re choking on it, barely able to breathe.” It might be the tip of the squid’s tentacle that’s pressing along the loosening rim of Draco’s arsehole, or the sight of Harry’s face with the trace of a pleased smile curling at the edges of his straining mouth, his lips seeming to wrap even more forcefully around the squid’s arm in an effort to suck, but Draco wants Harry more than he’s wanted anyone else, and he lets loose with a possessive growl.

“I’ve always wondered what you'd be like in bed, but I can see that you’re a slut for cock, aren’t you, Harry?” Draco asks, his voice dropping into a seductive croon. The air fills with the sounds of Harry’s panting and the occasional slap of the squid’s appendages against the water. Harry’s nipples are dusky and hard, his dick twitching from the lack of friction. “When we get out of here, I’m going to make you forget about this bloody squid--” Draco hisses as he’s rewarded for his impertinence with a wet and heavy lash across his thighs. A pain blooms from the sting, but the bruise only feeds his anger, his arousal. “That Geminio potion you have locked in your office? The one you confiscated in the raid last month? I. . .I could use it. I could fuck that gorgeous arse of yours while you suck my twin. Fill both your greedy holes with my come.”

Draco’s own face heats further. He’s never spoken like this before, never mind the fact that it’s  _Harry,_ but the filthy words seem to spur Harry on. He nods minutely around the arm that’s feeding his mouth, and as the clouds part overhead and the moon shines more brightly than should be possible, Draco can see the black of Harry’s pupils grow, the green of his irises disappearing, swallowed by his arousal. The muscles in Harry’s neck strain as the outline of the squid’s arm visibly slides against the soft of his cheek, and his biceps bulge and chest heaves as its pace quickens. Meanwhile, the tentacle that’s been teasing Draco’s rim suddenly gains entry. The push and burn fills him with surprise, causing him to flail, thereby landing an ill-placed kick close to the squid’s eye.

The arm that’s been filling Harry’s mouth slides out, and with it, Harry lets out the neediest and sluttiest moan. “Draco,” he manages, hoarse and bruised, the sound of it filling Draco with pride until the squid silences him by replacing its arm and plugging up Harry once more.

Something wet fills the inside Draco’s arse as he feels himself growing looser, the tentacle thickening as it sinks deeper.

“Or maybe I'd eat you out,” Draco manages, nearly giving in to his desire, to the pull of the squid, to the lust that’s overtaking him and begging for him to  _submit_. “Take your bollocks in my mouth, then tongue the space behind them as I work my way up to your rim. I’d spread you wide. . .feel your arse clench in my hands as I taste you on my lips, bite your skin until you’re squirming in my palms. Fuck, I bet you taste amazing, Harry. I'd lick you. . .lick your hole until you’re dripping wet. Eat your incredible arse until you lose control, until all you can think of is getting yourself off as you ride my face, begging me for more.”

Harry chokes, his high-pitched whine unmistakable even as it’s muffled by the squid’s relentlessly plunging appendage.

“I’d get you so loose that my tongue would slip right in. And you’d take it, Harry, opening your greedy hole for me. My tongue  _and_ my fingers—two of them. . .maybe three, even four. Getting you nice and loose, just like the slut you are.”

The heat pools through Draco’s belly; he’s overwhelmed by the surrealness of the night, from the water that’s cool and silk-like against his overwrought skin, all of it making him fall apart in the face of Harry’s expression, so filled with awe and rapture. He bites back a gasp as the tentacle that’s fingering him brushes against his prostate, the electric shock of its touch sparking up his spine and down his groin to his bollocks.

He pants, and with a will that’s inhuman, stops himself from giving in to the need to let himself go, to plunge down on the thick appendage that’s filling his arse so beautifully and ride it until he comes.

“And when you’re ready, I’m going to bury my prick in your greedy cunt,” Draco says, his voice breaking as Harry keens, muscles tensing as he writhes against the arm and tentacle that’s fucking him. Harry’s hips are free from being bound and they fuck out into the air, his prick so purple it looks aching. His body twists and turns so he can take in even more, the tentacle that’s buried in his arse sinking even further so what’s visible between Harry’s legs is greater than the width of any of Draco’s plugs. Harry’s eyes are bleary, his body shaking as his eyes begin to roll.

Draco can’t decide if it’s the most depraved or the hottest thing ever. Either way, there’s no way Harry can hold on for much longer.

“You’d feel so perfect, Harry, so wet and warm. Fuck, I bet I’d slide right in,” Draco bites out, his own prick dripping.  “And you’d take it. . .take me beautifully from behind while you suck me from the front. You'd take me until you’re swollen and raw, lips and hole spread open, fucked out at both ends like the amazing man you are. And only when I fill you up, shooting deep into your throat, plugging your arse full of my spunk, would you be allowed to come.”

Harry’s breaths are coming dangerously fast. Draco can’t quite get himself there;  he’s never been able to come untouched, even with the feel of something sliding against his balls and digging into his arse. His hips thrust into the air, rocking in frustration as he searches for the friction he so desperately needs, but he knows that Harry needs his release, needs it now.

“Come for me, Harry,” he grits out.

The appendage filling Harry’s mouth slides out as Harry does, the desperate sound of his release echoing through the night. It’s broken, his mouth gaping with the hint of his white teeth, tongue pink and lips swollen with slime and saliva. His capable body jerks only once before he’s spurting, the twitching of his cock causing his release to paint his belly before shooting down onto the tentacles that’s frantically fucking him between his legs. Perhaps it’s a trick of the light, or maybe Harry’s sperm is just as potent and magical as the rest of him, but Draco could swear that it causes the squid to shudder and spasm in response.

Suddenly, the squid goes slack, each and every tentacle and arm uncoiling as it loosens its hold. Harry grunts as the tentacle that’s lodged in his arse starts to slip. It makes an obscene sound as it slides, faster and faster, its smooth surface coated in layers of slick. The one in Draco’s arse retreats as well; it brushes against the underside of his balls as his hole spasms, the hot stretch of it subsiding even though there’s a part of Draco’s hindbrain that protests its loss.

“Harry!” Draco cries out, ignoring his still-hard prick as Harry slides gracelessly into the water. He swims over and gathers Harry’s limp form in his arms. They’re still within feet of the (hopefully) satiated and slightly dazed squid, but Draco has no idea how he can get them back to terra firma safely, naked and without the use of his wand.

The squid turns slowly, cocking its lumbering head. It lifts several long arms into the air (and holy fuck, there was no way Draco could tell while when he was being pinned, but they easily look to be at least twenty-five feet long) and raises an eye to him, the white of it startling bright and the size of a serving platter. In an incredible imitation of a perfect, arching brow—without actually having one, of course—the squid bows its head and brings down its arms forcefully against the surface of the water.

Draco holds onto Harry tightly, his legs kicking out in front to keep them afloat. He’s careful not to dig his fingers into Harry’s bruised and reddened flesh while keeping a firm grip on him as the waves jettison them back to shore. As the waters grow shallow and the force of the current recedes, Draco looks up. He catches a glimpse of the Giant Squid, who closes one eye in a semblance of a wink before it sinks back silently into the depths of the now-quiet waters.

Draco shivers; he should be exhausted, but his body is still thrumming from his nerves, his unanswered arousal, and the press of Harry’s naked body against his own. He manages to walk them back to the beech tree where everything began as Harry leans against him, Harry’s fingers casting a shaky but wandless warming and drying charm along the way. When they get to their clothing, Draco pulls out his wand and transfigures his pants into a passably soft and large blanket before laying Harry down.

He’s about to pull on his trousers when Harry grips his wrist.

“Wait,” Harry manages, tugging on Draco’s arm as he pats the blanket next to him. Draco sits down slowly, self-conscious about the state of his still-hard prick. “Let me help you take care of that. I think. . .I think there was an aphrodisiac in those secretions.”

Draco gasps as Harry’s strong fingers curl over the shaft of his cock. He can’t believe Harry is stroking him. He leans into the touch, giving himself to the sensations that course through him, causing him to lose all rational thought.

“I think the aphrodisiac in my case is you,” he admits.

The words barely register in his muddled brain, but somewhere, he realises that Harry’s stopped wanking him off. There’s a quick intake of breath before Harry moves closer, then resumes his stroking with an even greater urgency.

“Oh my god, Draco,” he whispers, pressing his mouth to Draco’s. Even though Draco’s nearly delirious with need, he is aware that this is different. Something tender and soft.

The warmth grows in Draco’s belly, a fire that glows white hot, deeper and brighter than one of pure pleasure. He comes with a soft cry, breathing in the scent of Harry’s hair and sweat, the salt flooding from his lip where he’s bit down in an effort to stifle his sounds. His orgasm wracks every inch of his body, from the twitching of his arse through his legs, from his heart and his head, and the pulsing, aching release of his cock.

When the last wave finally ripples through him, he gives one more feeble push into the circle of Harry’s hand, slick with the thickness of his come. Harry’s eyes are watching him intently, the force of his gaze leaving Draco feeling awkward and a bit stunned.

“Oh no you don’t,” Harry says as Draco begins to pull away. He kisses the corner of Draco’s mouth, soft and tender. It’s the barest brush, a touch of their swollen lips, but it’s so caring that it feels more illicit than anything that has just transpired. It’s like the most private of kisses, shared between the most intimate of lovers.

“You can’t deny that something’s happened between us,” Harry says once they’re able to catch their breaths.

Draco manages to arch a brow, although the effect is likely ruined by the soppy smile that accompanies it. “The Giant Squid fucked us good and proper. It’s not something I’d easily forget.”

Harry’s gaze is serious. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

Draco inhales slowly, his heart stuck in his throat. He can’t bring himself to say the words. . .to dare to hope, so he prays that Harry can see the answer in his eyes.

Harry sighs. “I’d like for something to happen again. But as it turns out, I’m kind of a one-person guy. I can be a bit of a jealous bastard, but I like the idea of giving someone my all.” His cheeks flush adorably—truly adorably, considering this is the thing that embarrasses him, after everything they’ve just been through. “What I’m trying to say is that I like the idea of us, and that I’d like to see you again. Without the squid, that is.”

“I don’t know,” Draco drawls, confidence and hope blooming by the second. “Seems a bit anticlimactic, after everything that's just happened.”

“A dinner date. Just you and me. . .no other Gryffindors, Slytherins, or cephalopods allowed.” Harry brushes his lips along Draco's jaw, his hot and talented tongue nibbling the lobe of Draco’s ear as Draco suppresses a shiver. “The climax comes after. I wouldn't be opposed to any and all of your filthy suggestions, you know. If you’re up for it.”

Yeah, Draco's up for it. He flips Harry over; his cock is already twitching at the possibilities as he lets out a delighted growl.

“You’re on, Potter.”

**~.O.~**

**Author's Note:**

> *Come say "hi" on Tumblr: [nerdherderette](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/nerdherderette)


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